


though the stars walk backward

by Amazingspaceship



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, F/F/F, Meteorstuck, Multi, Polyamory, roxy being gay and nervous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 01:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazingspaceship/pseuds/Amazingspaceship
Summary: You laugh wetly into his shoulder. "When I write my autobiography, I think I'll call this chapter 'three-way clusterfuck alien romance on a shitty meteor hurtling through space.' I figure that just about sums it up.""That's the best damn name for a thing that's ever been named," Dirk says.





	though the stars walk backward

"You're drunk again," Dirk says, and he doesn't even bother to turn around.

"Wrong!" you reply cheerfully, and sit down beside him. He's on the roof again, feet dangling over the edge, staring into the empty void of the furthest ring like it'll give him answers. "'M tipsy. There's a difference."

You're holding a martini glass, something you managed to un-void the previous day. You sip at it while you stare out into space, feeling the warm shoots of alcohol worm their way into your brain. You're not inebriated enough, you decide. Not nearly enough at all.

Dirk doesn't look over at you, but you can still see the faint lines of a scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You're totally drunk." He shifts his weight, moving closer to you. The fabric of his godtier pants make a shuffling noise as they rub against the metal. "It's way too early in the morning for you to be drinking. What's wrong?"

"Man," you complain, and flop over onto his lap. "I 'unno how you can tell what time it is. It could be midnight for all we'd know."

He strokes your hair gently, like he's afraid you'll shatter if he presses too hard. Like you're made of glass. "Roxy. What happened?"

You reach your hands up, clumsy with drunkenness, and try slide the shades off Dirk's face. He doesn't resist - of course he doesn't, he doesn't need to, you're so drunk you can barely stand up - and when he frowns at you something _breaks_ , something small and fragile inside of you, and then everything comes tumbling out.

"I saw her," you slur. "Porrim. Wi' that girl. Th,' the blue troll. Lat- Lata- Tula- something-"

"Latula?"

"Yeah," you sigh. "I saw 'em kissing. 'N the lib'ry." Behind a bunch of books, where they probably thought no one could see them. But you saw them, of course you did, and now you can't shake the image of their tender embrace from your mind.

"Mmm." Dirk says. You reach your hands up and manage to knock his shades loose, finally, even though you're seeing three of them. His eyes are very orange. "So let me get this straight: you accidentally ran into two of our alien allies space-frenching in Aranea's library."

"Yes."

"And that made you sad?"

"Yes?"

"So you decided to get blackout drunk."

"Yes," you say, and blink at him.

"Dude," Dirk says, "you're pining."

"No," you huff. "Yes. Maybe."

"For which one?"

"I... I dunno. Both?"

Dirk sighs. "You giant disaster. C'mon. Let's get you a glass of water or something."

"Only 'f I get to paint your nails."

He pulls you up, and his hand is tight and reassuring on your wrist. Grounding. "Sure, Rox, but only if you let me pick the color."

* * *

You're in Dirk's room a few hours later, when you've sobered up enough that you can hold your hands steady as you apply polish to Dirk's hands. He's opted for red, this time.

You've come to look forward to these jam sessions with Dirk, even though they're usually premeditated by some sort of crisis. When it's just the two of you you can pretend, for a few minutes, that things are like how they were before: when it was just you and Dirk and Jake and Janey and everything was alright. Plus, there's something about Dirk that makes you feel better - something about him that makes it seem like everything is going to turn out okay, when all is said and done.

Maybe this is moirallegiance. You think of the hour-long lectures Aranea and Kankri have subjected you to on the topic of troll romance, and you think: maybe they're on to something.

"It's stupid," you say, "because they've got a thing going and I don't wanna, like, mess it up. And even if It does work, am I gonna be a, a third wheel the whole time? The silly human they mack on just for laughs? Do trolls even do polyamory inside a single quadrant?"

Dirk makes a sympathetic sort of noise. You switch to his left pinky. "Have you thought about consulting someone else?" he suggests. "Someone more versed in the area of troll romance, I mean."

"I tried, but Kankri's too annoying and Aranea's too patronizing and I'm not even sure if Kurloz can talk." You smear some polish on Dirk's thumb. "Shit, sorry."

"It's fine." Dirk drums his free hand against the metal floor, beating a rhythmic pattern that is strangely soothing. This room was definitely not designed to be lived in, because the walls are way too thin. You can practically hear the entire meteor from here: Kankri ranting about something in the common room, Aranea laughing at a joke from Latula, the clanking footsteps of the Postwoman making her rounds. They're faint noises, barely even audible, but the meteor is otherwise so silent that they stand out like a candle in a dark room.

You sit back and admire your handiwork. Dirk has pianist's fingers, long and thin, perfect for fiddling with delicate machinery. You run your fingers across his knuckles, rubbing at his joints. His fingernails are now bright red - blood red, Kankri red, the red that his brother spoke in before he died. You've both lost people, you think, and maybe that's why you feel so close to him. Because of your shared death.

"Maybe I'm thinking about this too hard," you say, screwing the cap back on the bottle of polish. "Maybe I shouldn't even bother with romance."

"Would that make you happy?" Dirk asks, and it breaks your heart how sincerely he says it. "Would it?"

If you said yes he'd believe you, and he'd drop the whole Latula/Porrim thing. He trusts you so completely. You're not sure if this makes him a better moirail, or a worse one.

"No," you say, finally. "It wouldn't."

"C'mere," Dirk sighs, and pulls you into a hug.

The two of you sit there, for a minute, pressed together, and he holds you like you're the most important person in the world.

You laugh wetly into his shoulder. "When I write my autobiography, I think I'll call this chapter 'three-way clusterfuck alien romance on a shitty meteor hurtling through space.' I figure that just about sums it up."

"That's the best damn name for a thing that's ever been named," Dirk says.

* * *

When you work up the courage to go back into the meteor proper, Dirk trailing behind you, you find everyone in the common room. Kankri is still in mid-lecture. You think it's a different one than what you overheard earlier, but it's hard to tell.

"...would be reducing the situation to a frankly unconscionable degree, failing to take into account the personal altitudes of each individual player and simplifying it to an unnecessary..."

"Hey," you call. You've interrupted Kankri, and Latula flashes you a look of gratitude (you ignore how that makes your heart go tight and hot in your chest). "What're the haps down in trollville?"

Porrim is sitting next to Latula on the couch, and her arm is around Latula's shoulder. You try to ignore it. "We're discussing classes and aspects. We've got two and a half more human years on this meteor, so it seems only prudent that we work on attaining a comprehensive understanding of game mechanics before we arrive at the new session."

"Right," says Kankri, "and I was simply explaining that breaking down an individual to one's class and or aspect limits the discussion to the powers of that class, without taking into account the various abilities that come unique to each player, and therefore-"

"Cool," Dirk interrupts. "Sounds like fun." He sits down in an armchair and immediately decaptchalogues his computer. So much for participating in the discussion, you guess.

You look around vaguely for a place to sit. Aranea is in the same spot as always, and Kankri always stands for these kinds of things. Dirk is taking up the only other armchair, which leaves...

"Over here, Ro-lal," calls Latula, and she scoots over on the sofa, leaving a Roxy-sized gap between her and Porrim.

Shit.

You half expect the sofa to explode the moment you sit down, but all that happens is that Porrim scoots over to make more room. Even so, it's a small couch, and you're very conscious of the fact that the two girls you've been wanting to kiss for the past six months are pressing close on either side of you. You can't even pay attention to the discussion, anymore, because you can't tear your gaze away from the curve of Latula's collar, or the shape of Porrim's figure under her dress. You think you've had dreams like this.

Porrim glances over at you, and you jerk and stare fixedly at Kankri. You can feel her eyes on you for the rest of the evening.

The longer you sit there the more you zone out until you're only paying attention to the sound of everyone's voices. It's weird how, even though you've only been on the meteor for six months, you can pick every inhabitant out by voice alone. There's the monosyllabic tones of Dirk, the high-pitched crackle of Kankri, the bored, condescending drawl of Aranea.

Porrim speaks in a low purr, deep and melodic, and if you were writing your wizardfic you'd say she has a 'voice like honey.' Latula's voice is a stark contrast, all high notes and cackling. The two of them trade barbs and jokes like old lovers, with the easy familiarity that's formed by a long-time relationship.

You want that. You need that. Fuck, you've got it bad.

The discussion winds down eventually, and the six of you (minus the postwoman and Kurloz, obviously) begin to disperse for dinner. You move to lever yourself out of your seat, hoping to abscond before you make a fool of yourself in front of either of your crushes, but Porrim grabs your arm. You look back at her, confused, and she smiles a pointy smile. Her teeth are very sharp. She brings her mouth close to your ear, her breath hot against your skin. " _Meet us in the library after dinner,_ " she purrs, and your face is probably the color of Dirk's nails right about now. Porrim releases your arm (you don't move, you're totally dumbfounded) and sashays off into the kitchen, Latula in tow. The latter of the two flashes a brief grin in your direction, followed by a wink, before disappearing through the kitchen doorway.

And then you're just standing there in the middle of the common room, contemplating the pros and cons of skipping dinner to read up on troll romance.

* * *

The problem, you find, is that when you're confronted by the idea of kissing two girls at once your sparing human intellect instantly assumes the most ingratiating posture of surrender imaginable. Heck, you have a tendency to curl up in a fetal position when you're confronted just by general romance; such are the depths of your personal hang-ups. You're the master of your own destiny, it's you.

It's not the idea of kissing girls that you're having trouble with, or the concept of smooching two girls at once. What it is is that you can't make yourself believe that Porrim and Latula would ever want to kiss you, and you certainly can't imagine receiving affection from both. Two hot alien babes? They're totally out of your league.

And, at this point? You can't ask anyone for advice. Dirk ran off after dinner to take a shower, and you know better than to bother him during his ablutions. Aranea and Kankri are, frankly, assholes, and completely insufferable besides. You could ask the Postwoman - you've been teaching her sign language, and can hold a pretty decent conversation now - but the last time you asked her for advice she told you to CAST OF ALL EARTHLY WORRIES AND PREOCCUPATIONS because THE MAIL IS THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS.

So you're heading into the unknown, alone and unadvised. This can only go well, right?

When you creep into the library after dinner it's quiet. Aranea must be out doing something, whatever she does when she's not horns-deep in a book, and without her the library is eerily silent. And empty.

Or, at least, it looks that way.

Suddenly, a hand grabs your arm. You're pulled off your feet and into an alcove, hidden behind a large stack of books. Porrim steadies you with both hands on your shoulder, Latula cackling just behind her.

"Hi?" you say. "Um."

"A little birdie told us," Latula grins, "that you were angling to get in our flushed quadrant."

"A very orange little birdie," says Porrim.

"I- what- no! I mean-" you founder, "if you wanted to, but obviously- I mean- I wouldn't want to- but do you-"

You shut up because, holy shit, Porrim is kissing you. Apparently trolls kiss just like humans do, albeit with a little more teeth. She reaches her arms around your neck, and as if in a dream your hands drift to rest around her waist. You close your eyes and lean in.

Then Latula butts Porrim out of the way. "Quit hogging!" she crows, and wow okay now Latula is kissing you too. She's different than Porrim, more aggressive, and you don't realize that you're tipping over until you're on the floor, Latula lying above you, your lips still locked.

When you break apart, you manage something very intelligent like "buh?"

"Stupid," says Latula. "What the hellz were you even worried about? Obviously we'd want to get it on with a rad human chick like yourself."

"What she's trying to say," Porrim says, "is: yes, Roxy. Yes."

Your stomach does a giddy flip. Holy shit- they _want to kiss you._

"I mean," says Porrim, suddenly unsure, "obviously if you don't want to, I mean, we wouldn't want to assume-"

You grab the collar of her shirt and pull until she topples onto you and Latula with a shriek. Books scatter. The three of you are in a haphazard pile, limbs everywhere, and you've made a huge mess of the library. Books have flown every which way.

Aranea is going to be so cross when she sees you next. Right now, though, Latula and Porrim are kissing you, so you can't really bring yourself to care.

* * *

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] started pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

TG: "little birdie" my ass  
TG: a flighty orange douche more like  
TG: i cant decide if i love u or hate u  
TT: Hahaha.  
TT: Congratulations.  
TG: okay ive decided its the 2nd one  
TG: bbl more makeouts happening

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] blocked timaeusTestified [TT] \--

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] unblocked timaeusTestified [TT] \--

TG: <>  
TT: <>

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] blocked timaeusTestified [TT] \--

* * *

"So are we like," you ask idly, "a thing, now? The three of us?"

Makeouts have turned into an impromptu movie marathon in the common room, because the couch is much more comfortable than the library floor. It's late- probably close to midnight. Porrim shifts on your right, readjusting the afghan spread across the three of you. A very asleep Latula is on your left, her face pressed into your shoulder. She's drooling a little. The faint light of the television throws shadows across her face, the curves of her horns.

"Do you want us to be?" Porrim asks. She reaches under the blanket and grips your hand. "We- obviously we don't want to pressure you into anything-"

"Shh," you say, and press a kiss to her cheek. "I'm totes down with us being a thing. I just wanna make sure you're okay with it." You frown. "Although, come to think of it, wasn't it Dirk who-"

"Roxy," she says, and plants her own kiss on your forehead. "Don't worry about that. Latula and I knew you were interested long before Dirk said anything. We just needed a little push to actually act on it."

"Oh," you say, "in that case..." You turn a little bit towards her, and grin; the loveliness what you're about to ask has just hit you, and your face is alight with the sheer delight of it. "Do... do the two of you wanna go on a date with me?"

"Well, Roxy," she says, "I would have thought my position on the matter was obvious."

"Cool," you say, and squeeze her hand. She squeezes back. Your eyes are growing heavy. Your shoulders are starting to slump. You're sitting on a shitty couch on a shitty meteor hurtling through the (shitty) depths of paradox space, and your two girlfriends are right there beside you.

All in all, there are worse things to fall asleep to.

**Author's Note:**

> dive for dreams  
> or a slogan may topple you  
> (trees are their roots  
> and wind is wind)
> 
> trust your heart  
> if the seas catch fire  
> (and live by love  
> though the stars walk backward)
> 
> honour the past  
> but welcome the future  
> (and dance your death  
> away at this wedding)
> 
> never mind a world  
> with its villains or heroes  
> (for god likes girls  
> and tomorrow and the earth)
> 
> \- E.E Cummings


End file.
